Caging the Beast
For All Nails #138F: Caging the Beast by President Chester A. Arthur ---- :Prescott's Point, Angel Island, California :6 June 1949 "I'm sorry, Sheriff." Major Miguel Rodriguiz was a decent man, more than a captain of MPs at an isolated naval base in what was still mostly wartime had any right to be. Bush and Rodriguiz had worked together several times; catching a drunken soldier who ran down a small child with his teeby and a local merchant who had been bilking sailors out of their bolsillo dinero. "You know I respect your authority, but now that these terrorista have killed Mexican sailors on this island, I have to declare martial law and put my men on the streets. A full contingent can arrive here from Colorado City in the morning." Stay together. Bush sat perfectly still, his hands pressed flat against the cheap pulpaboard desk, so hard that the creaking of the material echoed off the walls of the small sheriff's office. His head hurt. "That's ... good. Make sure that it's your men on the streets as long as possible; they're known here, and respected. Federales publically sticking el bota in ... it could make the situation worse." Not that it can get any worse. he thought as he forced himself to make conversation with Major Rodriguiz, forced himself to lay out exactly how and where he should deploy his extra military police, forced himself to even ask about the major's brother, who was still posted somewhere in China. We are no longer a vacation town, no longer a tourist trap, no longer even the shark city. We're just another town with a terrorista problem. Oaxaca. Pueblo. Mazatlan. Us. "If there's any assistance my office can offer yours, once martial law is in place--" Montoya's screams as the beast tore him to pieces like a child with a paper doll. The quiet accusation in Garcia's eyes as he vanished beneath the sea. "You only have to ask." Rodriguiz had the grace to look even more apologetic. "I'm sorry, Sheriff, but you know how that would look. If I was seen to be favoring the local law, even after they had, euh--" The sea of blood and dust and ash that was the United Mexican building. A face, free of flesh, staring up at him. "--had problems maintaining order, well ... " The Major shrugged. "You've been in the service, you know how that would look." Bush laughed, a short, explosive bark. His head hurt. "Oh, yes ... Caesar's wife, and all that." The form beneath the waves, black and fast as a torpedo. The radioman's blood, blossoming up to the surface like the rising sun. Bush closed his eyes as the Army major left, then looked again to see Deputy Daniel Ortega standing in the door, file in hand, his eyes like a sapper's faced with a fragmentación mine. "I've got Juarez' report on the two gunmen, if you're interested." He laughed a little. "If it matters, now." There is no escape. "Auto." Bush forced himself to concentrate on the mental images of gunfire roaring over his head and the Maria bursting into flames and heat, incinerating its passengers. It was terrible, but it was a far finer thing than the vision of jagged white and two black eyes. "We actually managed to identify one of the terrorista by his teeth; Javier Meaney, a local chico from Colorado City. If the cabron he arrived with is the same one he died with, he was Sergio Fox, also a local. Meaney and Fox were both largo tiempo Causa; they've got lamina as long as your arm." Ortega paused. "The odd thing, though, is that they only arrived on the island on the fourth; on the eight o'clock ferry. Almost the only ones coming onto the island that night ... " Bush cursed. His head hurt. "Which means the UM building wasn't their work. Which means ... mierda. Which means there must be more terrorista on the island, more ai smashers, and we have no idea who they are." He smashed the table. "And why the hell would Causa rotura up a UM building, anyway? Half of their money comes from ... damn it!" Bush grabbed his intercom and smashed it against his desk, again and again with every word. "And all this, and we can't. do. ANYTHING!" The unit smashed into flinders. "Sheriff?" Bush and Ortega looked up to see Captain Juan Escobar in the door. "That's not entirely true . . . " ---- Forward to FAN #138G (6 June 1949): A Proposition. Return to For All Nails. Category:Walker Bush